


come alive, my midnight melody

by sleeponrooftops



Series: angel with a shotgun [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blasphemy, Chuck as God, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:49:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>IV in angel with a shotgun series.</i>  Chuck may not be aware he’s God, but his wife certainly is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come alive, my midnight melody

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the series, but you _definitely_ do NOT need to read the others to understand this. This takes place a little before and during _if love is what you need, a soldier i will be_ , though much of it is not prevalent to this or is explained, so no worries there. Also, this idea just kind of—hit me like a freight train, really. I had just finished _carry me home tonight_ , and there was this conversation between Chuck and a little boy named Beck, and I just loved writing it so much I was like, you know, I’m gonna write a Chuck story for this verse, why not. It’s a little strange, and there are some rather interesting bits, but I hope you enjoy!
> 
> A few discrepancies —
> 
> i – Little things mentioned in the previous two: I _know_ Lucifer isn’t the youngest of the four archangels, but, for convenience’s sake (and for the sake of adorable stories), he is in this. While this may go beyond season five, it does not follow the story arcs of season six and seven, because, as far as I’m concerned, they didn’t happen anyway.
> 
> ii – If you’re curious about the other side to this story, meaning the samifer and destiel, there are currently two stories posted about that, _if love is what you need, a solider i will be_ , and its sequel, _carry me home tonight_. They are companions and not necessary reads if you aren’t curious. They go into much more detail with the actual arcs of season five, though. Oh! And on that topic, this is labeled part four, but part three has not been posted yet because it’s the third samifer, and I wanted to keep them all together, so don’t go looking for it.
> 
> iii – I know Chuck started writing in 2005. Just pretend he was, I dunno, writing another series or something. Except I mention the Impala, so I don’t know. Things.
> 
> iv – A few of the outfits and Iris’ ring are actually linked to pictures, so keep an eye out for that. The actual description will just be linked.

_May 12, 1986._

Rich, wet feathers rustle and fold, wings small but beautiful, the color of jewels, a soft, deep teal.  Eyes that match flicker upward, meet a face drawn tight with sorrow and fear as brown eyes flitter across the street, checking, searching.  “Father,” the angel whispers, touching his arm, and he nods.

  
“I know.”

 

The angel stalls for a moment longer before stepping forward and rapping her knuckles on the door, rolling her shoulders.  She’s dressed for battle, armor shimmering in the glint of the streetlights, glistening under the heavy rain.  Footsteps approach the door as Chuck turns and looks down the street again.  He shifts the four-year-old girl in his arms, rubbing her back absentmindedly.  She’s fast asleep, head tucked into his neck, her massive red curls braided away.

 

“Avery?”  The angel turns back to the door, and the woman there looks at her for a second longer before looking past her at Chuck and the little girl.  “It’s time, isn’t it?”

 

“I’m sorry, Jody,” Chuck says, and the woman nods, stepping back and holding open the door.

 

“Let’s get her upstairs.  Avery, I’ll find you some clothes.”

 

“Right, thank you,” Avery murmurs, closing the door behind them, “I’ll put up the wards.”

 

Avery watches them leave upstairs before steeling herself and hurrying about the house.  She retracts her wings slowly, letting them fade away, and she has to bite her lip to stop the tears.  It will be a long, long time before she’ll ever be able to see them again.

 

When she’s finished, she pulls her hair away from her face, tying the white blonde strands up in a loose ponytail, and then she sets about warding the house from _any_ incoming enemies.  When she finishes, Jody is making tea in the kitchen.  “They should fit,” she says over her shoulder, and Avery nods, taking the clothes.  She exits the bathroom a few moments later in loose-fitting jeans, a purple t-shirt, and a grey sweatshirt that she leaves unzipped.  “Will Chuck be taking your armor?” Jody asks quietly as she sets a cup on the table.

 

Avery nods again, not trusting herself to speak, and she takes a seat, curling her cold hands around the mug.  She can’t believe the day is finally here, and it hurts deeper than she’d imagined it would.

 

“She’s asleep,” Chuck’s voice says from the doorway, and both Avery and Jody look over.  He forces a small smile, but Avery can barely look at it.  She drops her gaze, eyes watering.  Chuck looks away, as well, trembling hands shoved in his pockets and fighting the same tears.

 

“Come on, before your tea gets cold,” Jody says, lightly steering him over.  They all sit in silence for a long moment before Jody finally asks, “How long?”

 

“I don’t know,” Chuck says, shaking his head, “It could be years.  We’ve run long enough.  We can’t anymore.  Avery will stay with you.  She’s your sister, younger.  You will never speak of this except at night before she goes to bed, every night.”

 

“Where will you be?”

 

“I don’t know.  When I settle, I won’t write.  I can’t.”

 

Jody nods, and Avery can’t take it anymore.  “Excuse me,” she whispers, pushing away from the table.  Chuck watches her go, jaw set.

 

“Chuck,” Jody begins softly, but he shakes his head.

 

“How can I leave her?” he gasps.  He drops his head into his hands, tears falling unbidden down his cheeks.  “I might never see her again.”

 

“But she knows that you love her.  She knows that you exist.”

 

“I will not.”  He looks up, and Jody nods.

 

“When?” she asks.

 

“As soon as I leave.  Before I find a place to settle.”

 

“Who will you be?”

 

“Carver Edlund, a, uh—a writer.  I will be working on the Winchester gospels for the next few decades.  Dean is—he’s—he’s seven right now.  Sam is three.”

 

“And Mary?”

 

“Dead.  Sam was six months old.  John has already taken them on the road.  I can’t publish for a while longer, not until they’re in their teens, but I found an agent already.  We’ll meet in about five years.”

 

“And myself?”

 

“You will remember nothing, I’m sorry.”

 

“No, it’s for the best.”

 

“You won’t know what Avery is or who Iris is, but you will know that they are important, very important, and you will never question it.  You will protect them with your life, though it will never come to that.  You will know that Avery is your younger sister, that they must never be without you, and that Iris is an orphan, adopted when she was two.”

 

“But they’ll know.”

 

“Yes.  They will.  They must.”

 

“And Iris won’t question it?”

 

“She has the mind of a very ancient being.  She may be trapped in a slowly developing human body, currently as a four-year-old, but she understands.  She knows not to talk to you about it.  Avery will put her to bed every night.  You will never listen in when she— _reads_ to her.”

 

“Okay.  When will it happen?”

 

“Again, when I leave.”

 

“And you don’t know when you’ll meet her again?”

 

“No.  I won’t be—I won’t be God when I meet her next.  She knows, though, she knows everything.”

 

“And will you ever return?”

 

“In due time.  When my sons understand their mistakes, I will remember.”

 

“Do they know this?”

 

“No.  Not even Iris does.  No one can.”

 

“And Joshua?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

Jody nods slowly before she reaches over and curls a hand over Chuck’s.  “Everything will be okay.”

 

Chuck stares at her for a long moment before taking in a deep breath and taking his hand back.  “I have to go.”

 

“Be safe.”

 

“Thank you— _so much_.”  He leans forward, and Jody allows him to place a soft kiss on her temple.  “I’ll see you in another life.”  Jody nods, watching him go, and he finds Avery in the living room, staring out the window.

 

“Is she ready?” Avery asks.

 

“Are you?”

 

Avery turns, shaking her head.  “Of course I’m not.  Father—”

 

“Sh, child,” Chuck soothes, going over and embracing her tightly, “You will see me again, I promise.  Until then, you know your duty.”

 

“I love you, Father.”

 

“And I you, my sweet child.  Watch over my Iris,” he whispers, releasing her to take her head in between his hands and drop a kiss on her brow.  “Remember your strength.”

 

Before Avery can respond, Chuck is gone, and she gasps, eyes closing and knees buckling under her.  No one is there to comfort her as she mourns the loss of her Father.

 

\--

 

_May 2, 1990._

Iris looks up as a ball rolls to her feet, and then she follows its journey to a set of Converse-clad feet walking her way that belong to a very young Dean Winchester.  She smiles to herself, bending to pick up the ball.  She looks beyond him for a moment, and she knows this memory, she’s seen it a million times, the day Bobby nearly yelled himself hoarse at John because he decided to take Dean throwing instead of shooting.

 

“Is this yours?” she asks when Dean stops in front of her.

 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he says in his overconfident way, and Iris laughs softly.

 

“Is that your dad?”

 

“Kind of.  He’s more like an uncle, though.  Thanks.”

 

“Anytime.  Have fun, Dean.”  It slips out before she can control it, and she runs off before he can question her.  When she clambers up onto the bench next to Avery, her daughter nudges her lightly by way of greeting.  “I just met Dean Winchester,” Iris says, smiling.

 

“Did you now?”

 

“He’s playing catch with Bobby Singer.”

 

“Mm, he’s eleven, then,” Avery says as she looks up and over to where Dean is looking at them curiously, “Fifteen more years, then.”

 

Iris stops smiling.

 

\--

 

_July 28, 1998._

Iris gets a job working some ridiculous summer-only tourist-season-nonsense in Sioux Falls City, and that’s where she meets the girl with red hair.  She introduces herself as Anna, all pleasant smiles and quick chatter, and Iris is cautious but friendly.  The girl comes back every day for a week until Iris agrees to grab coffee with her after a shift one day.  She’s wearing jeans that day, which she usually doesn’t because it’s _July_ , but she has something to hide.

 

“So, have you lived in Sioux Falls all your life?” Anna asks as they find a table a little ways down the street at some adorable shop.

 

“Yeah, I grew up with my two aunts.  My mom died when I was young.  What about you?”

 

“I was adopted when I was younger.”

 

“Small world.”

 

“No kidding.  So, what’re you up to later on?”

 

“Well, there’s this new movie coming out that I wanted to see, maybe you’d like to come with me?” Iris asks, smiling widely.  She likes Anna, and it makes her sad.

 

“Absolutely!”  They hang out for another hour or so before they start making their way down the street, and Iris knows when and how it happens before it does.  Her phone rings, and she reaches for her purse, stopping their walk down the street, and Anna grabs her arm.  She lets her close a hand over her mouth, lets her slam her against the wall of a building, lets her yank her down the alleyway, out of sight, lets her sink the blade deep inside her.

 

Instantly, the fear in Anna’s eyes warps from hidden to full-blown when Iris continues to stare back at her.  She arches an eyebrow, trying to keep her human body steady, okay, and Anna removes her hand.  “You cannot kill a god with a _blade_ ,” she spits, and Anna staggers back in horror.  The wall shakes underneath Iris, and she closes her eyes, breathing slow.  “Michael,” she says softly, “Please remain at bay.”  The bricks tremble for a moment longer before stilling, and Iris pushes away from the wall, gritting her teeth against the pain.  “You will remember this, daughter,” she says, and Anna gasps when the archangel blade appears from Iris’ jeans, “I know what you look like, I can feel you.  I am tethered to an archangel, Michael, and he is the most ruthless of my four sons.  My husband is tethered to Raphael.  Should any of your brothers or sisters approach me again, I will not hesitate.  I will let Michael descend.  Is that perfectly clear, Anael?”

 

“Mother,” she says brokenly.

  
“Go.  Go far from here, and never return to me again.  Next time, I won’t even let you speak.”  Anna is gone in the blink of an eye, and then the walls are shaking again.  Iris drops to her knees, her hand coming away bloody as she touches the wound, checking it.  Moments later, a soft hand flits across her face, and she looks up into the handsome face of John Winchester.  “On loan?” Iris murmurs, smiling.

 

“Just an image,” Michael says, pushing a loose curl away from her face, “You’re so young.”

 

“I am human, mostly,” she says, nodding, “Can you?”

 

“Of course.  Lean back.”  She forces herself to relax as Michael removes the blade and heals the wound.  “Let me take you back to Avery,” he whispers when she’s done, exhausted and weak.  When she nods, Michael carefully winds his arms around her, and she breaks a little when he kisses her forehead.  “It’s good to see you, mother.”

 

And then they’re standing in front of her house, and Avery is rushing out the front door.  “What happened?  What are you doing here?” she demands, trying to take Iris.

 

“Avery,” Iris says, holding up a hand, “It’s fine.”  Michael brings her through the house slowly, leaving her upstairs.  “You have to go.”

 

“Who was it?”

 

“Don’t go after her, Michael.”

 

“I just want to know.”

 

“Her name was Anael.  She was younger, a friend of Castiel’s.  Rachel, I believe, is one of her closer friends.”

 

“I’ll keep an eye on them.”

 

“Michael,” she says before he can leave, and he looks down at her, face drawn tight, “My son, I love you.”

 

“And I love you, mother.”  He presses another kiss to her temple before he leaves, and then Avery enters her room.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks softly from the doorway.

 

Iris pulls herself up, wincing, and she stares at the spot where Michael had been, her firstborn son, gone just like the rest.  “Leave me,” she says softly, turning her face so Avery won’t see her tears.  She hates these moments, when she’s so close to home, but never close enough.

 

\--

 

_November 4, 2000._

“ _God_ ,” Iris grumbles, throwing her backpack onto the floor before she flops onto the couch, leaning into Avery, who flinches at the blasphemy, “Some idjit asked me out today.”

 

“I still don’t understand why you’re so averse to dating,” Jody says quietly from where she’s going through a case file on the armchair.

 

“I’m waiting for someone special,” Iris gives her standard answer before she pushes off the couch and heads into the kitchen to make herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  She hates that she has to go to school, especially suffering through the completely preposterous biology classes that she’s been thrown out of on countless occasions for passionately arguing that evolutionism isn’t real.

 

Once in the kitchen, she pauses halfway through making her sandwich, and she just stands there, so human, without grace, and she wants to die.  She loves these humans, these beautiful creations, but she only wants her God back, not his creations.

 

\--

 

_October 27, 2002._

Iris groans as her alarm goes off, and then her shades are pulled back.  “Seriously, this gets old,” she mumbles from within her pillow.

 

“You say that every morning,” Avery retorts, sending her a quick, fond smile.

 

“Still playing mom, after all these years.  God, you’re excited about something.  Your grace is practically singing.”

 

“Just get out of bed.”  Avery leaves her with a soft tug on her hair, and Iris grumbles something incoherent before climbing out of bed.  She hates that she’s forced to sleep, forced into this human body, and it’s something she’ll never not hate.  She just wants it to be over, sixteen years since it begun, and she’s hated every moment of it.  She misses being powerful, just as Avery does, but they push on.

 

After she’s showered, Iris sets about getting ready for the day, wild and crazy red curls pulled away from her face in a loose bun.  She shimmies into a pair of tight, ripped jeans to AC/DC, singing along softly as she goes.  [Her shirt is a loose, flowing thing with various exotic patterns, though the base color is an off-white, orange is prominent in the designs, and two hot pink pieces hang down the front](http://sleeponrooftops.tumblr.com/post/16788289584).  Her playlist has moved on to Led Zeppelin by the time she’s brushed her teeth and is fixing her hair in front of the mirror.  She leaves it down today, a big mass of little ringlets, red as a crayon, and then she’s back in her room after brushing on a little makeup.  Avery is waiting for her, dressed in jeans, a thin grey sweater that hangs over her small frame, and a loose red sweatshirt.

 

“You look beautiful,” Avery says softly, and Iris frowns.

 

“What’s wrong?” Iris asks, going over and stroking a hand through Avery’s silky hair.

 

“Just sad.  I feel like we’re always going to be doing this.”

 

“Someday, child,” Iris murmurs, pressing a kiss to her brow before going to tug her Converse on, “Come on, we have shopping to do.”

 

They never transport because that will set off alarms, and so Iris drives a ’67 Buick Skylark, cherry red, something she’s worked many of her human years on, something to keep her mind off everything.  And so this is what takes them to the grocery store because she’s human enough to need to eat.

 

“I’m gonna go get the produce, alright?” Avery says halfway through, scrubbing a hand through her hair and nudging Iris with her shoulder, “I’ll be back in a bit.”  Iris waves her off, going over to take a number at the deli, and she’s just daydreaming while she leans against her carriage when a pair of feet enter her line of sight donned in beaten up, raggedy Converse.  She looks up, and her breath catches.

 

“Hi,” the man says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, “I don’t—I don’t actually know why I came over here.  You just look really familiar, for some reason.”

 

“Yeah?” Iris manages, blinking back tears.

 

He’s incredibly handsome, older looking, though she always imagined he would be, at least thirtyfive, and he’s got such facial hair, she almost wants to laugh.  He’s everything she always thought he would be.

 

“I’m—Chuck,” he decides, holding out his hand, and Iris shakes it.

 

“Iris.  Listen, this might seem weird, but—maybe you do know me.  Maybe we should have dinner and find out,” she offers, taking back her hand, which is shaking.

 

“Dinner,” he repeats, and he stuffs his hands nervously into his jacket pockets, “Yeah, dinner sounds good.  Could I, uh, could I pick you up?”

 

“Sure.  Seven okay?  Here’s my address.”  She fishes around in her purse for a piece of paper, quickly scribbling it down, and Chuck watches, smiling.  He’s so much less than she knows he can be, but it’s endearing, and it reminds her of when they’d first met, at the beginning of time.

 

“So, seven, then,” he says when she hands him the slip, “I’ll see you tonight.”

 

“I look forward to it, Chuck.”

 

He smiles, and then he’s gone, checking over his shoulder once, still with that confused look in his eye, and she has to soldier on and smile even if she’s breaking apart inside.  “Hey,” Avery says from behind her, and she jumps, hand flattening over her heart, “You okay?”

 

“I found him,” Iris whispers, turning to face her daughter, “I found him, Avery.”  Avery’s eyes go wide, and Iris nods.  “I’m going to dinner with him.  A _date_.  With my husband.  Oh, I found him.”

 

Avery slowly puts her things in the carriage before turning back to Iris.  “You’re sure?”

 

“Positive.  I knew immediately.”

 

“What was his name?”

 

“Chuck.”

 

“You didn’t get a last name?”

 

“Avery, it’s him.  I know it is.”

 

“Okay, I just—I’m not going to get my hopes up, alright?  Find out more about him, and then we’ll decide.”

 

She knows she’s just trying to protect herself, but it hurts Iris that she doesn’t believe her.  She nods anyway, turning around again.  She found him.

 

\--

 

“I feel like I’m cheating,” Iris murmurs, turning to her side.

 

“Why, because you already know what he likes?” Avery counters from her bed where she’s flipping through a magazine.

 

“Well, I do.”

 

“Which will only make it easier for him to fall in love with you again—if it’s Chuck.”

 

“It is.”

 

“So, are you done?”

 

Iris turns to her daughter, nodding.  “What do you think?”  It’s nothing crazy, just a simple black dress, long sleeves and a deep v-neck, hugging tight to her body over grey leggings.

 

“Heels?”

 

“Might as well.  He’ll appreciate that.”

 

“Think he’ll dress up?”

 

“He did the first Earth date he took me on.”

 

“Really?” Avery says, looking suddenly far more interested, “Where did he take you?”

 

“The Garden of Eden,” Iris says with a grin, and Avery rolls her eyes, “I know, I know.  Populated Earth, he took me on a picnic.  It was during the summer of ’54; I was in the most adorable yellow dress.  He told me I looked like a banana, and then he gave me a bouquet of flowers.  They were beautiful,” Iris breaks off, lifting a trembling hand to her mouth, just hovering there.  Avery frowns, watching her mother.  “So many colors,” Iris continues after a moment, taking a steadying breath, “Purples and blues and oranges.  There were tiger lilies, my favorite, daisies, lilacs, gosh, it was gorgeous.  He said he thought roses would pale in comparison to my hair,” here she breaks off to laugh, and then she turns back to her mirror, looking over herself again, “I look like I’m in mourning.”

 

“You’re always in mourning.”

 

“For all the wrong reasons.  Come on, I need something bright.  Help me.”

 

“Keep telling me about the picnic,” Avery says as she disappears into the closet while Iris unrolls her stockings.

 

“It was the bluest day you’d ever seen, though I think he did it on purpose.  There were these big, fluffy white clouds, oh, they looked like you could just bite a chunk out of them and they’d taste like cotton candy.  We were on a hill by the ocean, and it was so green and soft.  There was a tree over us, the last remaining tree of the Garden on Earth, and it was the perfect amount of shade.  There were these little birds, blue and white, that lived in the tree.  He’d brought a red and white checkered blanket, can you believe that?”

 

“He did not,” Avery says, appearing to look over at her, and Iris just nods.

 

“He did it all right.  It was beautiful.  But those flowers, Avery, oh, those flowers.  I still have them.”

 

“Everlasting flowers?”

 

“Of course.  Never anything else.  He’d gotten a shirt all done up, a plaid one, with the sleeves rolled up, and he looked so handsome.  Jeans, of course, but he looked clean.  His hair was shorter then, shorter than it is now, and he still had that accursed beard.”

 

“You love it.”

 

“I do,” Iris sighs, “And he was—” Iris stops, blinking.  She pulls her hand away from where it’d caught on her dress for a moment, and she looks down at her hand where her ring is, where it’s always been.  It had been such a casual thing, when they’d gotten them, just another statement of their union, but it had made her so happy to see it on him, exactly like hers, [just simple leaves, winding around one another](http://www.theringbearer.ca/images/ckeditor_uploads/images/B1_Feb2012_TheVowWeddingDetails_a.jpg), and she touches it, trying to think back to his hands.

 

“This,” Avery says suddenly, coming out of the closet.

 

Iris nods, “Perfect.”

 

\--

 

“I don’t know how to date,” Chuck grumbles, and Joshua sighs on the other line.

 

“Of course you do.  I’m sure she’ll adore you, regardless.”

 

Chuck rolls his eyes, confused as always when he speaks with Joshua.  He always feels like he’s missing something, something he can’t quite grasp, like Joshua knows something he doesn’t, but he can never quite put his finger on it.

 

“Do you think I should get flowers?” Chuck asks a few minutes later, bending to tug on his Converse.

 

“Colorful ones, I think.”

 

“Well, obviously.  You should have seen her hair—red as a crayon, Joshua.  Roses would pale in comparison.”

 

“I’m sure she’s beautiful.”

 

“She is,” Chuck says softly, standing, “Alright, I best be off.  I’ll talk to you later, Joshua.”  He hangs up without waiting for a response, nods to himself, and then heads out.

 

Her house is small but quaint, and he smiles as he parks on the side of the street, looking it over.  A woman passes by the living room window with short black hair, her mother, probably, she’d looked young in the store, and he straightens his shirt absentmindedly.  When he knocks on the door, something like an explosion sounds from inside.  “ _Avery_!” a screech lets out, and Chuck gulps.  The door pulls open, and the black-haired woman stands there.  She looks as though she’s about to speak, but then she closes her mouth and looks at him strangely.  “Do I know you?” she says, tilting her head.

 

“Seems to be a lot of that going around,” Chuck admits.

 

“Hm,” the woman says, still staring at him.  He fidgets under her gaze.

 

“Jody, he’s here for—for Iris,” another woman says, her voice trailing off at the end, “Hi.  Avery.  Iris is, uh—she’ll be right down.  This is my sister, Jody.”

 

“Pleasure.  Chuck,” he introduces, shaking hands with each.  And then Iris is coming down the stairs, and Chuck can’t breathe.  [She’s in a green dress with a matching slip underneath for the dress itself looks like lace, three-quarter sleeves and down to her mid-thigh](http://sleeponrooftops.tumblr.com/post/16303212161).  And she’s wearing the same Converse she was wearing that morning.  Her wild hair is pulled back slightly, and there’s a flower in her hair, a bright orange tiger lily.  He can see her freckles now, with more of her skin revealed, freckles _everywhere_ over her creamy skin, and her eyes flash vibrant green when she smiles.  “Wow,” he lets out, finding his breath again.  Avery yanks Jody away from the door rather roughly, still staring at him, but he’s too preoccupied with Iris.  “These are for you,” he remembers, pulling the flowers out from behind his back, and Iris looks down at them, blinking.

 

“They look like summer,” she says with a wide smile.

 

“And you look like an apple,” he says, and she laughs outright, though there’s the hint of a tear in her eye, and he wants nothing more than to kiss it away.  “Are you ready?” he asks instead.

 

“Yes, of course.  Let me just—my jacket.”  She dons a black leather jacket, and he’s decided, right then and there, he’s definitely in love.  They head out, her arm looped through his, and she compliments his truck as he helps her in.  “I have a Buick, myself,” she says when he’s pulled off down the street.

 

“What year?”

 

“’67.  A Skylark.”

 

“Oh, those are beautiful, though I prefer Impalas, myself.”

 

“Like in your books?”  She makes a noise like she hadn’t meant to, and she doesn’t look at him.

 

“You’ve read them, then?” he says, deflated.  He hadn’t thought of that.

 

“It’s not like that,” she says quickly, “I mean—I love your work.  It’s wonderful, but—I’m not here because you’re Carver Edlund.  I’m here—because you’re Chuck Shurley.”

 

“Good to know, then,” he says, nodding.  He can do this.

 

He takes her to a nice restaurant where he falls deeper and deeper in love, and then he brings her to a park he’d always gone to as a kid, right by the ocean with a big tree on the hill, and that’s where he kisses her for the first time.

 

\--

 

_March 12, 2005._

“GOT IT!” Avery screams as she bursts into the house, “I got it, I found his publisher, talked her out of it, I _got it_.”  She careens to a stop in the kitchen where Jody is showing Iris how to cook something.

 

“Got… it?” Iris says, looking at her in confusion.

 

“I—” she begins proudly, straightening, “—am now the official and primary publisher of Carver Edlund’s _Supernatural_ series.”

 

“You are not,” Iris gasps, dropping her spoon, “Oh my _God_!”

 

“Yeah, literally,” Avery says, flapping her hands, “I’m so excited!”

 

“This is perfect.  Avery, oh,” Iris sighs, hugging her tightly, “You did so well, my child,” she whispers, low enough that Jody won’t hear.  Avery just squeezes her back.

 

\--

 

_January 20, 2006._

Iris straightens, leaning forward as she peers down the street when Chuck pulls around the corner.  “Stop, you’re going to ruin it,” he chides, looking over at her with a smile.

 

“I’m excited,” she says, “Which side is it on?”

 

“Left.”

 

“Of course it is,” she pouts, decidedly not opening her window now.

 

“No peeking.  Just sit back.  We’re almost there.”

 

When he parks, though, Iris almost can’t get out.  She’s here.  She’s moving into his house.  She’s finally found where he lives, after so long.

 

\--

 

_April 2, 2009._

“Shit, shit, shit.”  The last profanity breaks off in a grunt as Iris tumbles to the floor, and Chuck groans from the bed.  He’s used to Iris’ insanity at this point, but he loves it nonetheless.  “Balls,” she grumbles, pulling herself up even as Chuck rubs at his eyes blearily and looks around for her.

 

“What’s up?” he mumbles, forcing himself over to her side and looking over the edge of the bed.

 

“Uh, sorry—Avery,” she says by way of explanation, grabbing her phone off the nightstand and pulling herself to her feet.  She hurries out of the room and down the hall, putting the phone back to her ear once she’s locked herself inside.  “Are you sure?” she asks, and Avery sighs.

 

“They just left.”

 

“Sam and Dean,” it’s not a question.

 

“Sam and Dean,” Avery answers regardless.

 

Iris sighs, palming her face.  “Alright,” she says, turning in a circle, “Alright.  I’m not gonna tell him.”

 

“He’ll know you knew.”

  
“Well, duh.  The only thing he doesn’t know about me, at this point, is that I’m his _wife_.  It’s like living with him as God except he’s being dumb and pretending he’s not.  It’s the same as it always was.”

 

“Which is a good thing.”

 

“The best, obviously, it’s just weird,” Iris whispers, putting her other ear to the door, “Okay, I gotta go.  He’s up.  Bye.”  She hangs up without waiting for a response, and she unlocks the door before turning on the tap like she’s been brushing her teeth.  Chuck appears a moment later, knocking softly on the door.

 

“Everything okay?” he asks, his tone fond, and Iris smiles at the door.

 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” she says as she opens it, “Sorry, just—you know.”

 

“Being you,” he says, leaning against the doorframe, “You sure you’re alright?  You look kind of shaken up.”

 

“No, no, I’m fine.  Hey, what do you say I make breakfast?  Eggs and veggies okay?” she drops a dollop of toothpaste on her toothbrush, flashing him a quick smile.

 

“Sounds perfect,” he murmurs, and he’s suddenly right next to her, curling an arm around her waist and kissing her bare shoulder.  He noses at the strap of her bra, sighs, and lifts his mouth to kiss her ear.  “I’m gonna hop in the shower, mkay?”

 

“Yeah, of course.”

 

“I love you,” he whispers against her skin before kissing her on the cheek and then curving around her to strip off his clothes and push open the glass door to the shower.

 

“I love you, too,” she whispers back, and she knows he hears her even over the now-running water because he taps a few fingers on the glass, a common motion between them.  She finishes with her teeth, glares at her hair, and then pads back to their room where she pulls on an orange tank top, drops the shirt she’d been wearing when she first met him over that, and then slips into a pair of tiny black shorts before she heads downstairs, humming to herself.  She switches on the radio while she cooks, checking the time every so often.  It should take them at least an hour to get here.

 

Chuck appears a half hour later, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, his bathrobe slung over his shoulders, and he winds his arms around Iris, kissing the side of her neck before resting his chin there.  “Headache?” she asks, sensing the uneasiness in his fingers where he traces lines on her hips.

 

“Mm,” he murmurs, leaning his head against hers.

 

“Sit down, I’ll get you aspirin.  No beer,” she adds, and he just sighs and goes to do as he’s told.  She splits the eggs and veggies when she’s done, leaves him with a glass of water and a plate, and then she’s off to find aspirin, though, when she returns, he’s not in the kitchen, but she can hear the front door closing sharply.  Chuck sighs when the doorbell rings again, and Iris slowly retreats after leaving the aspirin on the table.  She goes up the stairs and into Chuck’s study where she can see out the window.  She can hear Dean shouting from downstairs, but she doesn’t pay it much mind until he and Sam lead Chuck outside, and then Chuck says the only thing he’s not supposed to.

 

“The last names were never in the books,” he says, shaking his head at them, “I never told anyone about that, I never even wrote that down…” he trails off, brow furrowing, “Except Iris,” he concludes, and Iris’ green eyes blow wide.  He’s changing the Plan without even realizing it.

 

And so she goes back downstairs, staying out of sight of the living room, leaning against the kitchen counter, listening to their exchange when they head back inside while she eats her breakfast.  And then, just as he’s apologizing, he breaks off, and Iris stills.  “Wait,” he says, and Iris can hear him turn, bare feet scuffing on the rug, “ _Iris_!” he shouts, and she nearly drops her plate.  “Did you know about this?” he asks, coming into the kitchen where she’s doing her best to look innocent and confused.

 

“Know about what?” she queries, stabbing a mushroom.

 

Chuck rolls his eyes, and she almost smiles, “Seriously, because you’ve _never_ eavesdropped in your entire life.”

 

“Sorry, dear, not a clue.”

 

“ _Iris_?” Dean repeats, and, suddenly, he’s looming over Chuck, who jumps at his sudden presence and steps away.

 

“Hello,” Iris says from the counter, waving, “Name’s Iris.  You must be Sam and Dean.”

 

“You’re taking this relatively well,” Sam says, appearing next to his brother.

  
Iris just shrugs.  Chuck opens his mouth, but she shakes her head.  “I’m going to disappear,” she says, dropping her plate in the sink, “I’ll just be upstairs.”  She pecks him on the cheek before heading out, and Dean whistles as she leaves.

 

“You got it made, man,” he says, and she can practically feel Chuck glare at him.  It makes her smile, though the fight after the Winchesters have left doesn’t.

 

“ _How_?” Chuck shouts, staring at her.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Iris yells back for what feels like the millionth time.  They’ve been circling around this topic and coming back to it for at least ten minutes, circling around each other and shouting themselves hoarse.

 

“You fucking do!  You _knew_ they were going to be here!  _Avery_ knew!  Who the fuck even is Avery?”

 

“Your _publisher_ , you idjit!”

 

“That!  THAT!” he breaks, shaking a finger at her, raging, “You said that before I ever even introduced Bobby!  You knew it!  I got it from you!  And you knew everything before I did it!  You would say things, lines that I had written, before I’d even shown them to you!  And then you disappear this morning, talking to Avery, and she was _telling you they were on their way_!  _How_?  _How_ did you know they were real?  Have you _met_ them before?  You don’t think that would be something you should tell me?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous!  Why would I keep that a secret from you?”

 

“Then how did you know?”

 

“I _didn’t_!”

 

“ _Don’t lie to me_!”

 

Iris just stares at him, eyes wet with tears she refuses to cry, human body trembling.  She wants nothing more than to tell him, but she _can’t_.  “Someday,” she whispers, stepping into his space, and his jaw is set so firmly, she knows he’s trying his hardest not to snap, not with her so close, “Someday, you will understand, but not today, and not for a while.”  She lifts a hand to his face, thumb stroking along his bottom lip before she lets it settle against his cheek, and he leans into the touch just a little, melting just enough.  She starts to say something, but then he gasps, stepping out of her reach.  “Chuck?”

 

It happens so fast, she barely sees it.  He lets out a groan and sinks to his knees, hands flying up on either sides of his head, and _he’s having a vision_.  Iris has never known them to happen when he’s awake, and she flits forward nervously, afraid to touch him, but then it’s gone, and, when he looks up, there’s a light in his eyes that she hasn’t seen in a very, very long time.

 

“Tell him nothing,” God whispers, and then it’s gone, and Chuck is blinking and shaking his head.  Iris feels faint, and Chuck stares at her, bewildered, for a moment before drawing her into the circle of his arms and holding her close.  “I’m sorry,” he says into her hair, and she just clutches at him tightly.  He’s in there somewhere, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t find him again.

 

\--

 

Sam calls Chuck, and Iris waits anxiously while he gets ready to leave.  As soon as he’s gone, though, she finds one of her hidden guns and holds it to her head.  Michael is there quicker than many angels can descend.  “You know, there are easier ways to summon me,” he sighs, snatching the gun out of her hands even as she lowers it, “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

 

“Summon your brother,” Iris demands, already pacing.

 

“I have many of those,” Michael reminds her, but he puts up a hand in surrender when Iris glares at him.  “He says he’s busy watching some prophet.”

 

“I _know_.  Tell him to—”

 

“Mother.”  Iris turns to find Raphael standing there, stiff and overconfident as always.

 

“Raphael,” she says, going to him, “Tonight, you will be summoned to protect the prophet Chuck Shurley.  You’ve been watching him today, I know, because he’s with the Winchesters, but, tonight, when he is threatened, you must not descend immediately.  Give the demon time to retreat.  I want her frightened, not dead.”

 

“Who are you to give orders?” Raphael sneers condescendingly.

 

“Your _mother_!” Iris shouts, jabbing a finger into his chest, “I may be trapped in this human body, I may be stripped of my grace and my power, but I will remember your insolence!”

 

“Because, surely, God will return, right, Mother?”

 

“Do you think I have no idea where my husband is?” she says, voice dangerously steady and quiet, and Michael straightens at this, looking over with newfound curiosity.  Raphael stares at her in a mixture of shock and disbelief.  “ _Of course_ I know where your Father is, I have _always_ known where he is.  Do not mistake your tone with me again, Raphael.”

 

“Of course.”  Raphael bows his head, “With your permission.”

  
“Go.  Remember.  Do not descend.”

 

Michael snorts when Raphael disappears, and Iris turns to him.  “It’s just good to see you acting like a god again.  It’s been a long time.”  Iris sighs, smiling, but then Michael continues, “So?”

 

“So what?”

 

“Where is He?”

 

“Sweetheart,” Iris sighs, “Soon, but not now.”

 

“Give him my love?”

 

“Always.  You better be off.  Your _image_ is starting to fade.”

 

“Goodbye, mother,” he murmurs, embracing her briefly before he’s gone, and Iris is left alone again.

 

\--

 

Iris is ready with a beer when Dean breaks in.  She greets him as the door swings open, leaning against the stairwell railing.  He pauses instantly, looking at her for a moment before he straightens.  “I was looking for Chuck,” he says.

 

“He’s out,” Iris replies, shrugging, “You’re welcome to wait, though I’d prefer if you knocked next time, thanks.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes.

 

She stays out of the way when Chuck returns and Dean argues with him, cleaning up after their morning, but then she hears the telltale sound of wings, and she turns, eyes wide.  She’d forgotten about Castiel, who blinks as soon as he’s descended, saying Dean’s name almost half-heartedly.  He turns toward her, staring, but Dean prompts him, and he shakes his head, turning back.

 

It’s only a matter of moments before Chuck is excusing himself and Castiel is entering the kitchen.  “What are you doing here?” he demands even as Dean makes a noise of frustration and follows him.

 

“Wait, you know her?” he says, motioning to Iris.

 

“Yes, of course I know her,” Castiel snaps, glaring at Dean for a moment before turning back to Iris, “We thought you were dead.”

 

“Just human,” she says with a shrug, “How are you?”

 

“Do you know where He is?” Castiel asks, and she can hear the desperation in his voice.

 

She crosses the room, and he stiffens under the attention when she cups his face.  “Jimmy is a handsome man,” she says softly, “but he misses his family.”

 

“Mo—”

 

“What you seek cannot be found, Castiel,” she cuts him off as she steps back.

 

“You know where He is, I know you do.  I can _feel_ it.”

 

“In what?  My grace?” Iris nearly laughs, “Child, I am nothing but an empty vessel right now.  You feel nothing.  My grace was ripped out long ago.”

 

“It wasn’t,” Castiel growls, stepping into her space this time, “I know it’s still there.  Where is He?”

 

“What you seek—”

 

“I need His guidance!”

 

“Castiel!”  He breaks then, eyes bowing and shoulders sinking.

 

A moment later, he turns to Dean, and Iris is helpless to stop him, “Dean, this is my mother.”

 

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Dean says, staring between them in disbelief, “I thought you guys—angels—were created, not born.”

 

“We are, but with the combined graces of our Father and Mother.  And this is her.”

 

“And she knows where God is?”

 

“Yes, Dean.”

 

“Well?”

 

“He is hidden for a very good reason,” Iris snaps, “Leave.  I don’t want you here.”

 

“I won’t.  You know where He is, and I need His guidance,” Castiel persists.

 

“Castiel, do you _wish_ to be stripped?”

 

“You don’t have the power!”

 

“But I have four sons ready and willing to do my bidding at any given moment.  I—Chuck,” she breaks off, eyes wide, “No more.  He doesn’t know.”

 

“You’re copulating with a _human_ , and you know where your husband is,” Castiel spits.

 

“ _Leave_ , or Michael will descend.”

 

“Okay, that’s it, feather-boy, we’re out,” Dean says, grabbing Castiel’s trench coat and pulling him away.

 

They’re gone before Chuck makes it back downstairs, and, by then, he looks exhausted.  Iris puts on a brave front and goes over to him, frowning.  “Are you okay?”

 

“How do I know you?” he asks quietly.  When Iris doesn’t respond, he continues, “I just feel like there’s something I’m not getting, I always feel like that.  When I talk to Joshua, when I talk to you, when I talk to Avery, there’s just something there that’s a little more than I actually know, like you’re all part of some other world that I haven’t figured out yet.  How do I know you?”

 

“I think you need to rest,” Iris says, guiding him out of the kitchen, “Come on.”

 

And he follows her, beaten down.

 

\--

 

Avery knows the moment Zachariah arrives in Chuck’s living room, knows Iris is out food shopping, knows every word that’s spoken between them, and so she waits.  She waits just outside, leaning against her black Ferrari, something Iris doesn’t approve of but Avery adores.  One of the things she loves most about humans is clothes, and she takes full advantage of that today, dressed in tight jeans, black combat boots, and a fitted black peacoat.  And when Zachariah exits the house, straightening his suit jacket, she’s there waiting for him, hands in her pocket and face expressionless.  “Hello, Zachariah,” she says before he disappears, and he stills, looking up.  The shock that clouds his face is practically tangible.  “Cat got your tongue?”  Avery pushes off her car, crossing over until she’s ascending the front stairs.

 

Zachariah steps out of her space quickly, fear flooding his eyes.  “You’re—you’re supposed to be dead.”

 

Avery laughs, short and empty.  “I’m sorry, did you think your little apes could take on the almighty Father and _survive_?  I will admit, recruiting humans was definitely not something we expected.  And then, to send a garrison after we’d dealt with the humans, very nice.  But really, _Zach_ , you can’t expect that I was alone, that I wouldn’t be with Him.”

 

“And Iris?” he dares ask.

 

“Oh, you mean the Mother you tried to kill?  Oh yes, Iris is alive and well.  Furious, too.  She knows it was you, and she will remember your sins.  You might think again about attacking her lest the wrath of God reign down upon you.”

 

“God,” Zachariah laughs, regaining some of his confidence, “God is—”

 

“Watch your tongue next time you speak with the prophet, Zachariah,” Avery says quietly, and the color drains completely out of his face.  Avery studies him for a moment before stepping back.  “I should warn you,” she says as she makes her way down the steps, “Should you speak of this encounter or your current suspicions to _anyone_ , those that you fear will know.  I hope not to see you again, brother.”

 

As Avery pulls away, Zachariah remains on the porch, staring after her.  It occurs to her that it’s time to reform her old garrison.

 

\--

 

“ _Chuck_?” Iris calls as she hauls the groceries in.

 

The house is buzzing with grace, and the smell of alcohol is rather overwhelming.  She finishes a few minutes later bringing bags in and putting them away before she follows the smell into Chuck’s study where his trash barrel is on fire, and he’s staring resolutely out the window, a half-empty bottle of whiskey dangling precariously from his fingers.

 

“Angels,” Chuck says dejectedly, “I should have known.  The Winchester _gospels_.  It’s just absurd.”

 

Iris sighs and goes over to him.  She takes the bottle before she kneels before him, rubbing her hands over his denim-clad thighs.  “Oh, Chuck,” she says softly, holding his gaze, “If only you knew how beautiful you truly are.”

 

“Who are you?” he asks, and she smiles sadly, “Are you an angel?”

 

“No.”

 

“But you are from Heaven?  You have to be.”

 

“If I say yes?”

 

“Iris, I love you.  Nothing will change that.”

 

“Yes, I am from Heaven.”

 

“If you’re not an angel, then what are you?  Are there many gods?”

 

“Only one, but that is a story for another time.  Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”  Chuck doesn’t ask if she’s God because she knows, somewhere deep down, he knows who she is.  Chuck takes a cold shower while Iris puts out the trash barrel and makes the bed, and she’s just getting settled and reaching for her book when Chuck enters with a towel slung low on his hips and scrubbing his wavy hair dry with another.  He drops both when he reaches the side of the bed, dipping down to kiss Iris slowly.

 

She sighs when he curls a hand around her jaw, thumb stroking over her soft skin before he lets it glide down, breaking the kiss only to breathe, and then Iris is tossing her book haphazardly onto the nightstand and fisting one hand in his hair, holding him close.  Chuck’s hand slips down over her breast, naked under _his_ t-shirt, and he rubs the pad of his thumb over her nipple, eliciting a soft moan from Iris.  His thumb runs in small circles, teasing the hardened bud until Iris whispers his name and pulls at his arm.  He starts to move slowly, but Iris is having none of that and pulls him over.  Chuck lands with a soft laugh, eyes following Iris intently as she swings a leg over him, straddling his lap.  “Chuck,” She whispers, kissing him hotly, wetly.

 

Chuck’s hands move quickly, pulling up the hem of his t-shirt until Iris leans back, and she tugs it off quickly.  One of his hands braces, fingers spread, on her back while he drops his mouth to her chest, kissing and biting along her collarbone until he descends, and Iris moans, hips shifting above Chuck’s as his tongue circles her nipple and his other hand tickles lower, tracing the outline of her panties.

 

“Iris,” he groans into her skin, and then they’re moving again, Chuck rolling them until he hovers over her, yanking her underwear down.  Iris kicks it off even as his thumb rubs over her clitoris, swallowing up her moan with a fierce kiss.  His index finger trails down, tasting her wetness, and she arches into his touch, gasping, when he teases her with just the tip of his finger, until she pushes up, and he sinks two fingers insider her, curling until her breath hitches, thumb pressing hard against her.  He watches her face, and his cock throbs with want at her orgasm.

 

“Chuck, _please_.”

 

It’s different with Iris than it’s ever been with _any_ other girl he’s been with, not that that’s a particularly extensive list, but there’s just something about her that makes it so much more.  At first, he put it up to the day she’d sat him down and told him it was physically _impossible_ for her to conceive with that underlying hint at what that meant, but it soon became clear to him that it was something deeper, something that opened him up, alit something inside of him and left him feeling powerful and otherworldly, a bright explosion of energy.  He knew, somehow, she felt it, too.

 

“Chuck,” she pleads, and his fingers slip out to make way for his cock, her pulsing, warm, wet walls making him groan and drop his head to her shoulder.  “ _God_ ,” she breathes, and something breaks inside him.

 

“Iris,” he says, looking up, and she stills at his eyes, confused, something ancient and sad fighting to overwhelm him.

 

“My love,” she whispers, reaching up a hand to touch his face.

  
“Who am I?” he begs, and she gasps as he rolls his hips.

 

Her legs slide up, so soft, hitching around his ribcage, one foot ghosting over his back.  “You know who you are, my love,” she says against his mouth, their foreheads pressed together, bodies close, “Let it show you.”

 

“Let _what_?”

 

Her head dips backward, hips arching up into his as he sets a rhythm, slow and easy.  “Your _grace_ ,” she says breathlessly.  Her words destroy whatever was breaking inside him, and he lets it, groaning into Iris’ skin.  _He remembers._

 

\--

 

_April 3, 2009._

Chuck wakes to the morning sun, pouring into the room through the open curtains, warming him inside and out.  He stretches lightly, rolling onto his side where Iris is lying on her front, the freckled expanse of her back shining in the sunlight.  The sheets pool at the small of her back, and her arms are above her, curled underneath her pillow.  Her face is turned toward him, smiling, content, beautiful, and he reaches forward, pushing crazy red curls out of the way.  He drops a kiss on her temple before shifting further and trailing soft, wet kisses around her shoulders and back.

 

“Mm, tickles,” she says after a moment, voice heavy with sleep.  He rubs his jaw against her skin in response, and she squirms, laughing quietly.  “ _Chuck_ ,” she groans, nudging him with her shoulder and rolling until her back meets his chest, pressing him back into the bed.  She’s only somewhat on top of him, and she loops an arm up to tug on his hair.  He smiles, kissing her arm up until he can’t reach, and then he trails his fingers down, dipping into the crook of her elbow, before he ghosts it down her side and back up, swooping around the inside of her thigh, to trace lazy circles on her breast.

 

Their breaths sync, easy and slow, bodies humming together, so close, and Chuck wants to reach into that ball of light she made him release, but he’s still afraid of it, afraid of what it will do if he reaches out with it, and so he settles for physical contact, and he makes Iris fall out of sync, breath hitching when he rubs a thumb over one of her hipbones, leaving her chest for now.

 

“Chuck,” she says, softer this time, turning her head, and he meets her halfway, kissing her slowly, fingers ghosting over her, hovering, teasing.

 

He pulls back, fingers landing on her thigh.  When she opens her eyes, he nuzzles against her nose, smiling.  “I love you,” he whispers, and Iris beams.

 

“I love _you_ ,” she says, pressing a kiss to his mouth, and then their morning begins.

\--

 

_November 9, 2009._

Iris it out to lunch with Avery, whom Chuck is convinced is an angel after Iris refused to let her in and talked to her in hushed whispers all the way to her car until Avery stopped and looked back, a mixture of joy and disbelief.  And there was only on explanation for that, and it was that he _knew_.  He was uncovering something hidden, something _he_ had buried, and his— _children_ could feel him.

 

He’d kept the most recent chapter of the Winchester gospels to himself because of the end, because he didn’t want Iris to think she needs stop him.  And so, when she’s gone, Chuck waits fifteen minutes and then goes out into his backyard, feeling extremely foolish.  He _knows_ angels can transport, but he clearly doesn’t know how, and so he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and reaches inward toward that ball of light that Iris had awakened, coaxes it to do what he wants, prays and hopes, and, when he opens his eyes again, the Winchesters are driving away from the warehouse in Ohio.

 

He blinks, looking around in bewilderment.  He did it.  He lets out a breath, shaking a little, and he approaches the warehouse slowly, his hands trembling the worst, so he stuffs those in his jacket pockets.  When he pushes the door open, the archangel Gabriel is facing away, but he turns immediately, eyes wide.

 

“ _Father_?” he says, and Chuck nods.  He _knows_.

 

\--

 

_November 24, 2009._

Iris fishes out her phone as she stops in the cereal aisle.  “Hello?” she greets cheerfully, grabbing a box of Cheerios.  He doesn’t speak, but she knows who it is at the soft, broken noise he makes.  “I’m food shopping.  Can you find me?”

 

The line drops, and then the thrum of his grace, tormented and so full of sorrow, reaches out for her own, a need for comfort, for safety, for _home_.  She turns immediately, closing the distance between them, and hugging her son tightly to her.  “Mother,” he gasps, reacting instantly, arms winding around her and burying his face in her hair.  When she pulls back, hands cupping his face, she can’t help but smile.

 

“My son,” she murmurs, adoration so clear, “Oh, my Lucifer.”  He holds himself together, but she can see the overwhelming joy and love in his eyes.  “Come, walk with me.”  He falls in step with her as she continues down the aisle, her little lost child.

 

When God had commanded Michael cast Lucifer out, she’d been with her youngest angels, showing them the way of taking care of their wings, and she’d watched in horror as Lucifer fell and Gabriel came to seek her guidance and comfort.  The event had caused a rift between her and God for nearly a decade before she learned to understand and accept.  Though his brothers and Father refused to speak with him after his fall, Iris frequently sought out the touch of Lucifer’s grace and visited with him in the only way she could.  Raphael was the only one who’d had a problem with their continued bond, and she hadn’t had an easy relationship with him since.  But here he was, her Lucifer, finally free.

 

“When were you released?”

 

“About six months ago.  I didn’t even know you were alive.”

 

“Only Michael did, but only because he’s tethered to me.  Raphael and Castiel know now, as well.”

 

Lucifer nods slowly.  “I can feel your grace,” he says softly, “And—Father’s.  Though only for a moment,” he clarifies, “I’ve been searching for you for months.  Michael is protecting you well.”

 

“He always has.  Only your brothers felt your Father, not the angels after you.  This must be kept quiet.  He is not God entirely.”

 

“I understand.  How are you?”

 

“Happy.  It has been a test of faith to wait for Him, masked by a prophet.  I have reason to understand that you have made peace with Sam Winchester?”  For the first time since before his fall, Iris sees her son smile.  “His soul is beautiful, as is your love for him.  And he has taught you patience,” she adds, smiling.

 

Lucifer tells her of Sam, of the slow but eventual acceptance of the devil, and, ultimately, the archangel, of their growing friendship, of Sam’s openness and ease with him, of the care and love Lucifer never thought he’d find in a human, let alone Sam, and of their strong and thriving connection.  He tells her of the feather he plans to give Sam, and the thumbprint so alike Castiel’s on Dean’s shoulder, of the connection between his grace and Sam’s soul, stronger than any he’d felt before, second only to Michael, and of his doubts.  He tells her of the horsemen and Death being kind to him, of meeting Dean and yearning for his family again, and, finally, of feeling at first terrified of Chuck and Iris’ return and then feeling immensely relieved.

 

Iris listens the whole time, talking only when appropriate, and then Lucifer wants to know why.  “Because your brother was angry with me, and your Father had already stepped away so that Heaven could flourish.”

 

“Raphael,” Lucifer nods.

 

“Please don’t go after him, Lucifer.  He was not a part of the attack, and he is still my son.”

 

Their conversation brings them to the registers, and Lucifer surprises Iris by stepping forward to unload her groceries on the conveyor belt.  “Do you know when He will return?” Lucifer asks, glancing over at her.

 

“When his sons learn their mistakes, though I doubt that includes Raphael.  He will never understand.  But you, Lucifer.  I was worried most about you, and here you stand, healing because of a human.  I am so proud of you.”

 

She can feel the heightened hum of his grace, and she smiles, watching him finish her carriage.  He stays with her, and his presence is more than she could ask for.  After so long apart, it makes her feel a little whole again.  She thinks of Michael and Gabriel, an ache so deep that it always hurts, a maternal yearning.

 

When they’re outside and Iris’ car is packed, she turns to Lucifer.  “I won’t see you again for some time, but something tells me you will see your Father soon.”

 

“Be safe.  Watch over Him until He finds himself, and—give Michael my love.”

 

“Remember your strength.”  They embrace a last time, and Lucifer kisses her brow before he’s gone, and Iris sighs in his absence.

 

\--

 

When Iris gets home, he can feel her uncertainty.  He extends his grace to hers, soothing, and Iris starts screaming his name.  She finds him in his study, Gabriel looking at one of his books.  She stops in the doorway, too baffled to move any further.  Chuck is God, and _Gabriel_ is in the room, a son she hasn’t seen in nearly as long as Lucifer.

 

“Gabriel,” she says shakily, and he crosses the room in quick strides, embracing her.  She relaxes against him, sighing, “My son.”

 

Gabriel pulls back, looking at her for a moment before stepping away.  “He said you didn’t know.  That He’d remembered,” he clarifies, and Iris’ gaze flicks over to Chuck, her Chuck, who’s sitting there with the softest of smiles, and she can see it in his eyes.

 

“When?” she asks, staring at him.

 

He sighs, smile widening, “You know when.”

 

“That night?”

 

He nods, and Iris breaks, laughing.  Chuck stands as she comes around to him, and they’re unified, by human contact and by grace, a connection solidified after decades apart, a period of time they’ve never experienced alone.  Iris pulls away suddenly, eyes searching Chuck’s face.  “How open are you?”

 

“Only the four know.”

 

“Michael will come.”

 

“Father,” Michael’s voice interrupts them, and Iris turns, smiling.  Before anyone can continue, though, Michael turns, eyes wide, and Gabriel holds his gaze.  Iris and Chuck can feel the transfer of emotions between them, the mingling of their graces, an affectionate touch that disappeared entirely after Lucifer.  The four have always been beyond _just_ archangels, and it makes Iris’ heart swell to see this interaction.  “Brother,” Michael says after a moment.  After they’ve greeted each other, Michael goes to Chuck, and then he looks to Iris, and something ancient and so sad taints his happiness.  “I felt him,” he says, and Iris understands immediately.  “I was going to descend, but I felt him.  You weren’t in danger.”

 

“I never have been in his presence,” she assures, “but you know that.”

 

“There was such— _pain_.”

 

“He is in need of his family, he always has been, much like you and Gabriel, even like myself.”

 

“Mother, I—”

 

“No more, child.  The time will come.”

 

Michael nods, lowering his gaze.  “I cannot stay long,” he says after a moment of silence, “Father, there is great unrest in Heaven.  There are—rumors about, things we are wary to clarify.”

 

“Chuck,” Iris says softly, touching his arm, “Avery is here.”

 

“Has she spoken to Zachariah recently?”

 

“ _Iris_!”

 

“Not that I’m aware of,” Iris says, looking to the door.

 

“ _Iris_!  Why does— _oh_.”  Avery stops just inside the room, eyes wide, “Father.”

 

“Come here, child.”

 

Chuck greets her as Iris goes to Michael.  “What rumors?” she asks; Gabriel seems equally intrigued.

 

“That your disappearance was caused by Zachariah, led by Raphael.”

 

“Where did this stem from?”

 

“My garrison,” Avery says, “The rumors are true.  I will _not_ —” she overrides Iris’ attempt to interrupt, “—allow him to attack you again.  You weren’t here when he _threatened_ Father before he’d remembered.  He has not forgotten his anger, Mother.”

 

“The Plan must go as foretold,” Chuck says easily, “Even this meeting alters it.  Michael, Gabriel, you will not act on this.  You know your places.  Avery, do not attack directly.  Let these rumors do their own work.  Zachariah will not survive this war,” he adds when Avery starts, “This, however, must remain silent.  Only my four sons and you, Avery, will know of this, of _our_ return,” he looks to Iris, “We cannot linger here together any longer.”

 

And so they say their goodbyes until only Iris and Chuck are alone.  “My love,” she says, “You’re here.”

 

“I’m here,” he agrees, kissing his wife delicately.

 

\--

 

_December 13, 2009._

Chuck laughs as Iris _finally_ decides on a tree.  “Shut up, it’s become tradition.  Jody didn’t know any better.”

 

“Christmas,” Chuck says, shaking his head, “God and his wife celebrating a Pagan holiday.”

 

“It’s an easy reason to get everyone together.  It’s going to be fun.”

 

“Mhm.”  Iris pushes him playfully, smiling.  “Anyway,” he continues, waving one of the employees over, “Who’s coming?”

 

“Well, you know.  Just a few people.”

 

“Stop lying,” he chides, grinning as he reaches for her hand and squeezes it.

 

Iris rolls her eyes.  “Avery, Jody, Bobby, Dean, Sam—Bobby asked if they could come,” she breaks off as Chuck gives her a look, “Castiel, probably, if Dean can convince him to come.  Stop it,” she snaps, pushing him again, and Chuck laughs.  He talks with the man for a few moments before they’re getting their tree, and Iris starts up again when they’re in Chuck’s truck, “Castiel will not badger you.”

 

“He’ll know, though.”

 

“I’ve already spoken with him.  As far as he’s concerned, you don’t know.”

 

“Fine.  Anyone else?”

 

“Well.”

 

“Iris.”

 

Iris looks away, watching the night sky go by, and she takes a few moments to gather herself before she speaks, “I doubt they’ll show up, but they are invited.”  Chuck nods slowly.  “I miss them.”

 

“As do I,” Chuck murmurs, glancing over at her, “They won’t come, Iris.  I’m sorry.”

 

“I know.”

 

\--

 

“Lucy, I’m _home_!” Avery sings as she pushes through the door, Jody in tow behind her.  [She’s dressed in purple, layers of intricate patterns of lace piled upon one another, short sleeves and a short hem, just to the middle of her thigh, over black tights](http://sleeponrooftops.tumblr.com/post/18445901717).  Her purple flats make no noise as she heads inside, carrying a plate of lemon squares while Jody brings in the casserole.  When she enters the kitchen, she nearly drops the plate.

 

Iris is standing with her back to them, [a white dress hanging loosely around her shoulders, cinched together with a thick, brown belt in the middle, dropping around her knees where her pale, freckled legs are visible underneath lace legging](http://28.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lzcb6f8zQT1qg9mlbo1_500.jpg)s.  Standing next to her, leaning against the counter, is Lucifer, clad in jeans, a t-shirt, and an open button-up.

 

“I rarely need explain myself, though,” Lucifer says as they enter, gaze flicking to Avery.  Iris looks up as he speaks, and then she’s swearing, wiping her hands off on a dish towel and turning.

 

“Avery, sweetie,” Iris says with a wide smile, hurrying over to take the plate from her, “And Jody.  I’m so glad you could make it.  Lucifer.”

 

“Yes, Mother?”  He doesn’t look to her, though, gaze still fixed on Avery.

 

“Oh, never mind.  Jody, we’re almost ready, just waiting on everyone to arrive, why don’t we put that in the dining room?”  As she ushers Jody out, she points a finger at Lucifer and then at Avery, both of whom nod once.

 

“Are you staying through dinner?” Avery is the first to speak.

 

“No,” Lucifer confirms, nodding, “I came to say hello, that’s all.”

 

Avery bites her lip for a moment before breaking, her mouth splitting in a beam as Lucifer’s mask falls, and he allows a small smile.  “It’s so good to see you, brother,” she says, hurrying over.  He allows her to embrace him, and then Avery is pulling back, still grinning.  “Why not?  Michael is coming.  It’s neutral ground tonight.  No hard feelings.”

 

“I cannot,” Lucifer says, looking away.

 

Avery nods slowly.  “I understand.  When are you leaving?”

 

“Now, actually.”  He returns his gaze to her.  “My brothers will be here soon, as will my— _Father_ ,” he manages, his voice trembling, “I wish to say goodbye to our mother, though.”

 

“Avery, would you please go comfort Jody?  She’s having trouble readjusting,” Iris says as she reappears.

 

“You told her?”

 

“Chuck did.  He’s in the dining room.”  Lucifer stiffens at this, and so Avery quickly moves away, flashing him a glance before she’s gone altogether.

 

“Please don’t cry,” he whispers as Iris approaches him, and he brings a hand to her face, thumb ghosting across her skin, “All this will be over soon.”

 

“Oh, my baby,” she breaks, staring up at him, “I miss you so much.  I will not let you be trapped in that wretched place again, I _swear_.  I will find a way to save you.  I will not fail you again.”  She folds her hand over his, shaking, and she forces her tears away, blinking.  “Please stay.”

 

“I cannot,” he whispers, leaning down to press a firm kiss on her brow, “I love you, mother.”

 

“Lucifer, no— _don’t_.”  She tries to reach forward, but he’s gone, and a sob rips from her as her hand falls through air and catches on the counter.  She holds herself there, braced against the counter, her other hand coming up to cover her mouth as another sob wracks through her.

 

She knows what comes next.  She knows why he can’t stay, why he can’t look his brothers in the face, she knows because she has seen all that he will do, and she mourns for him and for Gabriel.

 

Before Chuck can find her in such a state, Iris pulls herself together, disappearing into the bathroom to clean her face, and she takes a few moments to breathe before she returns to the kitchen.  The door is just opening, and she smiles as she hears Michael’s voice, a mirror of a young John Winchester.  He and Gabriel find her in the kitchen, and they know immediately.  Michael frowns, catching her gaze, as Gabriel greets Chuck hello.  Iris shakes her head, and Michael nods.

 

Chuck joins them in the kitchen, and it’s something none of them ever expected, two archangels and their parents.  “Sam, Dean, and Bobby are almost here,” Chuck says before he lays a kiss on Iris’ cheek, “Did you want to do the honors?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Iris says with a nod, “Michael, be a dear, finish this for me,” she waves to the stove, “Gabriel, help him.  I’ll be back.”

 

She opens the door just as the Impala is pulling up, Bobby’s truck behind it, and she smiles, watching them make their way over.  As she closes the door behind them, though, she speaks, “Tonight is neutral ground.”  The brothers immediately turn to look at her, and Castiel’s eyes go wide as he extends his grace.  “Michael and Gabriel are here,” she continues, and Bobby turns at this, “Though they are not here to harm.  No one even knows they are here, human, demon, or angel.  Michael is in the form of your father, boys, when he was younger.  It is likely he will not even speak to you, but, like I said, this is neutral ground.  No hard feelings.  No fighting.  No talk of this ridiculous war.”

 

“Ridiculous?” Dean repeats, looking offended.

 

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, every fight is petty.”

 

“I guess you’ve seen such terrible wars, then, for the _apocalypse_ to be _ridiculous_ ,” Sam speaks up.

 

Castiel turns, opening his mouth to silence both of them, but it’s Iris that continues, “I watched my firstborn son drive his brother into Hell, and I suffered millennia without _either_ of them,” she snaps, and the three of them straighten, stiff, “This apocalypse is ridiculous.  Now, we’re here for Christmas dinner, and there will be no fighting.  I need to return to my kitchen before my sons burn the house down.”

 

As she leaves, she hears Bobby whisper, “Was she just talking about the devil and Michael?  Who _is_ she?”

 

“God’s wife,” Dean mutters.

 

“Our Mother,” Castiel confirms, “She was trapped in a human body to avoid being found, but she’s since returned.  Not many know.”

 

“Well,” Bobby grunts, “Good thing we’ve got her on our side.”  She can feel Castiel smile, and it makes her do the same.

 

Thankfully, the kitchen is fine when she returns.  It isn’t long before everyone is sat at the table, she to Chuck’s right with Michael next to her and Gabriel, Avery, and Jody following.  Across the table, the boys, Castiel, and Bobby sit.  And, despite her fears, it turns out to be quite the joyful evening.

 

\--

 

_April 22, 2010._

Iris is in the middle of penciling her way through one of Chuck’s latest chapters when something large crashes upstairs.  She frowns, looking up to the ceiling, and she sits there a moment longer until she hears Chuck hit the floor next, a soft thud, and she’s on her feet in seconds, racing out of the living room and up the stairs.  The door to his study is swung wide open, and one of his bookshelves is lying on the floor.  “ _Chuck_!” she shrieks, climbing over it and nearly falling over in her haste to reach him, leaning against the window, his whole body shaking.  “Chuck,” she whispers, taking him by the shoulders and pulling him up, but he stops her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist tightly.

 

“What day is it?” he gasps, his eyes wide and bright.

 

“Oh no,” she gasps, scrambling to her feet again.

 

“Iris, _quickly_!” he shouts after her.  She tears down the stairs, trying not to think about his eyes, about what that means.  When she finally skids to a halt in the living room, she starts rifling through papers, some of them bound together because they’re chapters.  And then she finds it, labeled _Hammer of the Gods_ , and she chants a litany of no’s, flipping through the first few pages desperately.  The date at the top is today.

 

“ _Chuck_!” she screams, already rushing back out and toward the stairs, “Chuck, it’s today!”  When she gets to the top of the stairs, the door swings shut and then shatters, shards of wood flying everywhere.  She ignores it, barreling through and into the room again where Chuck is groaning, curling in on himself.  “Chuck,” she gasps, dropping to her knees in front of him and not touching him.

 

He screams, and the room drowns in light.  Iris can see through it, as only she can, can see through to Chuck, who looks up, truly God, and every angel in creation will know, if only for this moment.  “The Plan is changing,” he says, his voice harsh as though he hasn’t used it in days.  He turns his eyes on Iris, and he blinks.  “Gabriel is saved.”

 

“ _What_?” Iris whispers, reaching forward and grabbing onto him.

 

Chuck nods, disbelieving.  “Sam stepped in the way.  He took the blade.  Gabriel is alive.  Iris, our son—Gabriel, oh.  My son is alive.  He is—” Chuck breaks off, eyes slipping shut as he sees it, “He and Lucifer have left.  They’re on an ocean.  Sam is dying.  Gabriel is _alive_ , Iris.  Our son is _alive_.”

 

“Go to them,” she says, shaking him once, and he nods, opening his eyes.  “Fix Sam, Chuck, fix him and talk to Lucifer.”

 

“Iris—” he begins, but she tightens her grip, and he stops immediately, staring at her.

 

“If you allow our son to suffer in Hell again, I will pull him out myself.”

 

Chuck nods.  “I have an idea,” he says, and then he’s gone, the light retracting in on itself and fusing into him, a body that’s no longer there.  Iris clutches empty air, but she breathes a sigh of relief.  Gabriel is alive.

 

\--

 

When Chuck arrives, it is a beautiful day.  The sand is soft between his toes, and he looks down, finding himself barefoot.  He’s dressed in white, which is another surprise, but he just smiles and looks up again.  The waves are calm and rolling against the shore, the sun bright and high.  His sons are not far from him, Lucifer on his knees, Sam cradled in his arms, the archangel blade shining on the ground next to them as Gabriel works quickly to heal him.

 

He’s seen this, this union between Lucifer and Sam, and he has never been as grateful for his creations as he is now, seeing Lucifer’s vessel, so beautiful, changing everything he ever decided, changing his son for the better.

 

“Father, _please_ ,” Lucifer’s voice rings in his head.  It’s why he’s here, Lucifer’s call, only moments before he arrived, desperate and broken.  He could feel his son’s grace, his emptiness, and it had overwhelmed him immediately, a touch so long forgotten that he found the last ache in himself to piece together his grace, to make him God.

 

“Lucifer,” Gabriel says quietly, touching his brother’s arm, “Lucifer, you need to—”  Chuck nods as Gabriel stares at him.  Lucifer slowly follows his gaze, though he drops it immediately, and Chuck frowns, watching his youngest archangel.  He wants to reach out, to soothe his shattered grace, but it’s not time for that yet.  “Father,” Gabriel says, his voice reverent as he stands, taking a few steps toward Chuck.

 

“Gabriel, my son,” he acknowledges, closing the distance and smiling adoringly at his middle child, “You have done so well, my son.  I was so fearful today that your tale would end, but it appears my dear Winchesters have proven themselves once again.  Please, Gabriel, bring Sam back to his brother.  They will be at Bobby’s house.”

 

Gabriel nods, and Chuck takes his head in both hands, leaning forward to kiss his brow, and, when he steps back, Gabriel speaks, fearful, “Father, Lucifer—”

 

“Your brother will be fine without you, Gabriel.  Please.”  His fingers flick toward Sam, healing him, and he takes in a sudden, shuddering breath, alive and well.  Gabriel nods once before moving back toward Lucifer and kneeling once again.

 

Chuck watches, his grace humming with joy, as Gabriel curls a hand over Lucifer’s wrist and whispers, “Be strong.”  He presses a soft kiss to his forehead, and Chuck smiles.  “I will watch over you,” Gabriel promises before touching Sam with two fingers, and then they’re gone.

 

Chuck stays where he is, allowing his youngest son the time he needs.  “Lucifer,” he says after a few minutes, and he doesn’t respond.  Chuck sighs quietly to himself before crossing the beach toward Lucifer, laying a hand on his shoulder as he tries again, “My son.”  Lucifer slowly looks up to him, ethereal blue eyes a world of anger and pain, and he lets his hand move to cup Lucifer’s jaw, his heart aching.  He has done this, he has caused this sorrow, and he will do anything to give him peace.  “You will have to sacrifice much more, my son,” he whispers, “but the gates of Heaven will be forever open to you.”  When Lucifer opens his eyes, he can see it there, the acceptance, the love, the adoration Chuck always craved.  His son has returned to him, and he has never felt so whole as he does in this moment.

 

“What do I have to do?” Lucifer asks, and Chuck smiles.

 

\--

 

_May 13, 2010._

Chuck comes through the front door like a tornado, shouting for Iris.  “Kitchen!” she calls, and he bursts through, struggling out of his jacket.

 

“It’s starting,” he says, finally getting out of the accursed object and throwing it to the floor, “Iris, it’s starting.”

 

“Sam’s already said yes?” she asks, turning.

 

“Yesterday.  He just got to the cemetery.”

 

“And Michael?”

 

“About to arrive.”

 

“Dean?”

 

“On his way.  I called him earlier.  Michael’s there.”

 

“Okay.”  Iris takes a breath, nods, and then speaks, “Tacos?”

 

“Yeah, okay.  Oh, right, that’s why I was out.  I got salsa,” he says, holding up the bag he’d forgotten he was holding.

 

“Walk me through it again?” Iris requests as they set about making their spread for tacos.  It’s going to be a grueling, long hour, and Chuck had decided he wanted to watch it unfold, keeping up a running commentary for Iris so that both of them could make sure everything went according to plan.  They were changing everything, the original Plan barely a thought in their minds these days, but _this_ had to be done right.

 

This, this concoction that Lucifer and Chuck worked through until it was perfect, this is what Chuck explains again, to remind both of them of the crucial details, “Only Sam and Lucifer know what’s actually going on.  As far as everyone else is concerned, Lucifer has overpowered Sam and is going to destroy Michael.  Dean will arrive at the cemetery to talk to Sam, and Castiel will arrive with Bobby.  Castiel will get rid of Michael for a few minutes, Lucifer will beat Dean until he sees the army man in the back of the Impala, and then he will relinquish control to Sam, who will then reopen the gates to the cage.  Michael will return, try to stop Lucifer, and both of them will fall to Hell.  They will spend a week there, barely a day here, and then Gabriel will descend to retrieve Lucifer and Sam.  When they are returned to Earth and Lucifer has found us in Heaven, I will retrieve Michael, and the cage will be forever sealed.  _Oh_.”

 

“What?  What happened?” Iris demands, and she throws a piece of tomato at him when he doesn’t respond.

 

“Well.  Lucifer just blew up Castiel.  That really was uncalled for.  Iris, I’m sorry,” he sighs, already pushing his chair back.

 

“Seriously?  Was that supposed to happen?”

 

“Not as dramatically.  I doubt they know I’m watching, though.”

 

“Go find him before someone we don’t want does.”  Chuck disappears a moment later, and Iris sighs, putting together a taco.  She eats in silence, though it’s broken a minute later.  Chuck scrubs a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes.  “What?” Iris says with a smile.

 

“They’re such _children_ ,” he sighs, and she laughs.

 

“Well—yeah.”

 

“Shut up,” he grumbles, though he’s grinning, “Castiel is fine.  He has orders not to return until after the cage is closed again.  Lucifer is in the process of—wow, that’s just—okay, seriously, this is your fault.”

 

“Having a little too much fun with Dean?” Iris supplies, and Chuck nods, grumbling to himself as he grabs the bowl of lettuce.

 

“He’s _your_ favorite,” he accuses, glaring at Iris.

 

“Pretending to be angry while smiling is completely ineffective,” she reminds him, and he just sticks his tongue out.

 

Chuck stills, his hand twitching, and Iris arches an eyebrow.  “Okay,” he lets out a breath, “Sam’s in control.”  The next few minutes tick by in agony, both of them waiting, and they know it’s over when the agony of Michael’s grace touches theirs.  It goes smoothly, though, and Michael and Lucifer are trapped in the cage with Sam.

 

“Are you gifting Lucifer Nick’s vessel?” Iris asks when it’s over.

 

“Yes.  I need to do that, actually.  Just a moment.”

 

He’s gone in the blink of an eye and back in the next.  “Abusing your power,” Iris teases.

 

“I am God, after all,” Chuck says, puffing out his chest, and Iris laughs again.  It dies away in a sigh, and Chuck looks over at her.  “Soon,” he murmurs, and she nods, meeting his gaze, “We can go home soon, my love.”

 

“My God,” she says, beaming, and Chuck hums before leaning forward and catching her mouth in a soft kiss.

 

When he sits back, he chews a mouthful of taco before speaking again, “I have to go to Bobby’s house tomorrow.”  His brow furrows, eyes drifting upward as the vision continues.  “Yes,” he says suddenly, “Sam left them a letter that Bobby will find.  He tells them I’m God, finally, and I am to explain everything.

 

“What will you say?”

 

“The same we’ve been saying since April.  The new plan.  That Sam and Lucifer knew what they were doing, that they had to do it in order to draw Michael into the cage, that everything happened as it did because it had to, that Lucifer and I came up with this idea so that I could fix everything afterward.  Whose stupid idea was it to create a Plan in the first place?  I like this free will idea.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Mm.  It’s nice.  I think I’m going to scrap the Plan, get rid of it altogether.”

 

“Just let the world happen?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Alright,” Iris says with a shrug, “And Hell?”

 

“Have you met the demon they call the King of Hell?  Crowley?”

 

“I haven’t.”

 

“He’s nice,” Chuck affirms, nodding, “I think he should keep that title.  I need someone down there I can count on.  Plus, he’s terrified of me, and that works well.”

 

“You are God, after all.”  Chuck is the one that laughs this time.

 

\--

 

_May 15, 2010._

 

Iris closes the front door behind her as Avery kills the engine on her car, parked on the street.  As she gets out, Iris descends the stairs, and they meet halfway.  “Are you excited?” Avery asks, barely containing her grin.  Iris just nods, not quite sure how to put her joy into words.  She’s going home, after so long, she finally is returning to Heaven.

 

It isn’t long before Chuck finds them, dressed in white and barefoot, and the sight makes Iris’ heart soar.  She reaches out to him, with her hand and with her grace, and, as he takes her hand, a soft glow settles over her, her clothes transforming into an elegant white dress, sweeping to the ground and pooling around her suddenly bare feet.  It’s strapless, and her back ripples as gorgeous, strong, massive white wings slowly unfold, unfurling to their full length, arching high and beautiful, the largest wings of Heaven.

 

As they settle again, resting against her back, Iris looks to her daughter, and she takes her hand at the same time Chuck does.  Avery closes her eyes, beaming as her armor is returned, shining in the daylight.  Her white blonde hair falls around her shoulders as her wings spring out, a soft, deep teal that matches her eyes, feathers ruffling in the wind.

 

And when Avery opens her eyes again, Iris lets go of her hand and loops her arms around Chuck’s neck, laughter ringing through the glory of Heaven as she kisses him, God and his wife finally home, reunited.  Heaven rejoices their return.

**Author's Note:**

> So that didn’t really end the way I thought it would? I don’t know, I guess this whole story was kind of weird for me. I never really knew where it was going. I think I felt like Chuck while I was writing this, not really sure of what was happening, confused like he was. I mean, I like it, I do, I really like how it turned out, it just feels a little weird sometimes. What do you think? Please leave your thoughts!


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